


The Sound of Covid 19

by Zoya1416



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: COVID 19, Gen, Humor, Inspired by You Tube video, The Sound of Music - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: Crowley watches a terrifying You Tube video. For purposes of the fic, the Apocalypse didn't happen and Crowley is still the wily serpent hassling mankind.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	The Sound of Covid 19

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_shepherd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shepherd/gifts).



> This parody was created by Shirley Serban, and the fic will be more fun if you watch it.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMBh-eo3tvE&fbclid=IwAR2KJJCD2tU7Ki7PIsEXA-Ybsr2zvIL8Yv3THMTJCmMIMn1ho0UsrVEXDac
> 
> This fic is gifted to a_shepherd who sent the link to me.

Crowley slung himself sideways on his throne and sulked. What was the use of being a tempter when there were no humans to tempt? The self-isolation imposed in Britain had all citizens hiding in their homes, and it was hard to reach them. He'd been able to tap into the rage of a few when they fought for the last roll of loo paper at Tesco, or urge them to covet when they stockpiled masks and gloves, but mostly they had hidden themselves away. The streets were almost empty and the M25 no longer created the daily low-grade simmer of of irritation in drivers which they usually passed on to everyone they met.The Ritz had closed, as had all the sushi placed the angel loved. He didn't _need_ to eat much, but he resented not being able to watch Aziraphale enjoy a perfect meal. The angel's mouth and expression as he ate linzertorte verged on idolatry.

He didn't think Below had let loose this plague. It was a purely human disaster, made worse by those in power who dithered and wasted the chance to lessen its impact. Now Italy was shut down, with deaths still rising, and as for New York - he hadn't created the health care system in the United States, and he wasn't responsible for the chaos as it crumbled. Now healthcare workers who'd put themselves in harm's way were dying. But it wasn't the Apocalypse. He was certain that the Anti-Christ hadn't been born yet, because Beelzebub had told him he'd be directly involved in that job.

Sighing, he collected his plant mister and marched over to the greenery. "Alright, listen up. I'm stuck in here with you, and you know what that means? I'll be watching you night and day. Is that clear, Tradescantia and Croton? And you orchids have been slacking, don't think I haven't noticed." He glowered at the worst trouble-maker. It was a lovely plant, now ten feet tall. He'd grown it from a 12 inch tall baby. It didn't like drafts, soil that was too wet or soil that was too dry, and it was fussier about its sunlight and humidity than any of the others. But he'd curled beneath a Ficus Lyrata in the Garden and watched it flower and fruit. He pulled a yellow leaf off and showed it to the now trembling plant. "Fiddle-leaf fig. Did you think you could get away with this?" He crushed the leaf in his hand. The tree shook in response, and Crowley silently altered its humidity and pushed in an inch closer to the light. The big baby. He'd never get rid of the finicky thing. It was his first plant and he loved the sharp taste of its figs.

A loud knock on his door startled him, and he heard Aziraphale yodel, "Yoo hoo! Let me in, dear boy, I have something to show you."

Usually it was the other way around; he went to the bookshop ten times for every one Aziraphale came to him, and he opened the door hesitantly. No, it wasn't any messengers from below, just the angel, beaming and carrying a cell phone, of all things.

"Aziraphale. You have a cell phone? Why didn't you call me before you pranced over here?" He was being grouchy only for show, and had already flicked on the kettle and brought the water to a boil.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd mind. My legtop - " 

"Laptop."

"Yes, that. It's not working, but I can still find little pictures on the phone. Do you know about I-Tube?"

"Angel. It's You-Tube. It's been You-Tube for fifteen years. What are you on about now?" He pulled a selection of pastries from a previously empty shelf and placed them on the seldom-used dining room table, along with the teapot and two cups. He preferred smoky oolong teas, but he knew Aziraphale liked the comfort of Twinings. 

Aziraphale sat down in on a white chair and pressed some buttons on the phone. "It's the terrible pandemic. Humans have found so many ways to cope with this, and I wanted you to listen." A familiar scene popped into view - a beautiful Alpine meadow with a blond, short-haired woman in a simple brown dress who strummed a guitar. She was surrounded by a small cluster of children wearing playclothes made of - made of - Crowley blessed under his breath, and threw himself into a chair opposite Aziraphale. 

"Angel! No! Why in Heaven would you ever - that's The Sound of Music!"

The angel smiled. "Yes, but see what they've done with it."

He pressed another button and the ghastly melody started. This time, though, the lyrics were different.  
"Let's start at the very beginning.  
A sore throat and cough in Wuhan  
In no time at all there were 1, 2, 3."  
The children chorused "One, two three." 

"One went on a plane, took it overseas." "Overseas," another chorus.  


"And that's how pandemics get started, you see."

"NO. Aziraphale, no. Do I come over to the bookshop and bend the spines of your Bibles? Why are you inflicting this on me? On us?"

Blue eyes blinked guilelessly. "Just watch it."

Crowley watched it. The song was a parody of Do Re MI. 

"Do not fear, but please stay here.  
Stay at home now everyone.  
We must wash and clean things well.  
Don't let COVID virus spreeeaad."  


He put his hand over his hand and groaned, but there was no relief. The song trilled on.

"Once you have this in your head, you can do a million things at home to stay sane, like this -" 

The demon wondered whether Aziraphale would thwart him if he wiled the phone to catch on fire, but then the sweet voice sang two promising lines. 

"Sleep, eat, whinge, tweet, snooze, blob, think,  
Loaf, mooch, doze, smooch, binge watch, drink."

Those were vices! The ex-postulant was teaching the children sloth, gluttony, and underage drinking! She was tempting them!

"Social life has been postponed  
And you're going out of your mind  
Suck it up and stay at home  
And we'll leave this bug behind!"

He snorted involuntarily. The children now had a new phrase to scandalize the Captain and the Baroness with.

The children and the young woman danced under a vine-covered archway and around a fountain, flailing and leaping.  
"Do not spread these germs around  
Yes, you may be going mad  
And be desperate to get out  
It's a nasty world out there  
Keep the social distance ruuuules!"

They ended up jumping up and down steps. It was still sickeningly sweet, but he peeked through his fingers for the last verse.

"You have got the power to (the children repeated this in contrapoint.)  
Flatten the curve through the things you choose to do  
It's truuuuue!"

The singer reached a high sustained wailing pitch as the film Maria stretched one arm high overhead and patted her head with the other.

Crowley turned to the angel, whose smile was - he'd have to say it was sly. 

"Angel. That - caterwauling - the words - why did you bring this over? That fiend of a governess is teaching the children sins." 

Aziraphale tilted his head to one side. "I suppose she was. My goodness, what a wily young woman created this video. But she's teaching them about social distancing and washing their hands. How could that be a sin? Gracious, what a dilemma. A mixture of good and evil, wouldn't you say?"

"I still don't understand why you infested my home with these notes." 

"Well, dear boy, what if more people heard this? I think it's a blessing, and you'd have to try to stop it. You think it tempts people, and I'd have to thwart you." He bit his lip and looked oh-so-innocently at Crowley.

"Angel," said Crowley, realization hitting him. "You're bored. You're, what, trying to play a game here? Get me to inflict this nauseating earworm on unsuspecting people? And you'll try to stop me."

"Well, the message is good. I might have to, what would you say, scrub out a few lines, so there's no tempting." The angel's eyes sparkled.

Crowley laughed. "Oh, no you don't. It's going to get more hits than anything, unchanged. You don't know anything about social media, about influencing." He picked up a bottle of wine. "Did you know they made wine in Texas?"

Aziraphale winced. "Don't even joke about that. I'm sure it's undrinkable."

"Monte Stella Sauvignon Blanc. They've been making wine at the Llano Estacado winery for over 40 years."

The angel pouted. "Crowley, really. You must be joking if you think I'm going to drink wine made by someone in a Stetson - oh." The demon had poured a glass and held it to his nose.

Aziraphale took the glass and sniffed suspiciously. The bouquet was sweet, and would certainly pair well with the tempting bakery selections Crowley had selected.

Crowley tossed his red hair over his shoulder, and scooted his chair closer to Aziraphale. "Come on then. We can plot to please both our superiors."

"It can't hurt, surely." Aziraphale picked out a piece of shortbread and nibbled, then took a sip of wine. His eyelids fluttered. "This isn't bad."

"Told you," the demon grinned. "Now, this is the way you spread things around. Boost the signal, see if we can get it to go viral - not that that, angel, it's a term for pushing music, video, images, memes, so that they spread rapidly in a population. We'll start with my Facebook accounts. I've got a couple of dozen..."

Outside the flat, birdsong could be heard in the quiet world, and finally, a nightingale sang in Berkley Square.


End file.
